After Africa: An Ode to Joy

Ubuntu, the African philosophy of "I am because you are," shaped my journey in Zimbabwe. This deep sense of human interconnectedness was not just an idea—I witnessed it in action. We are one.

I pour my heart out to you in this essay. I know it’s long but I am also gambling that your spirit is hungry for something authentic. Not one word of this was written by AI. I spent months writing and reflecting on this experience before deciding to share it with you here. A special thank you to my dear childhood friend, Paul Kaiser, who is my trusted editor for feedback when I go out on a limb. I hope you will set aside some time to walk with me on this journey and allow it to speak inside of your heart, too.

Love, Heather

I once heard an interview of His Holiness, the 14^th Dalai Lama, who paraphrased a Tibetan saying, “Wherever you receive much love, that is your home.”

Under that calculation, then clearly a part of me resides in Matau, a rural village in Zimbabwe, as the love that poured into my heart from the beautiful people I met there followed me all the way back to my farm in Maryland.

In June 2024, I was blessed to spend three weeks on an African journey that I am certain will impact me for a lifetime. Before leaving on this combined humanitarian mission and holiday excursion, I had heard from others who have traveled to Africa that one never returns home the same person. What an understatement.

I cannot tell you the story of Africa without first telling you the story of the phenomenal person who inspired me to travel there: Dr. Tererai Trent.

Nurturing our Sacred Dreams

My life would not be the same from the moment I met this woman, this force of nature. Originally, I had signed up to attend a workshop at the Kripalu retreat center in western Massachusetts under the premise of meeting and working with one of my favorite writers, Elizabeth Gilbert (author of “Eat, Pray, Love” and “Big Magic” among other greats). I was not aware that the Universe had led me there to meet and work with Tererai Trent.

Dr. Trent was a co-facilitator of this workshop and when she spoke her story into the air we were breathing and the consciousness we were sharing together that weekend, I recognized the deep calling from my heart and the tapping on my shoulder to join forces with her important work and vision.

She is the founder and leader of Tererai Trent International (TTI), a non-profit organization with a vision to provide gender equity in education in a country that has not been historically eager to educate their girls.

The workshop organizers gathered our attention with a well-produced video of Oprah Winfrey telling us why Tererai was her all-time favorite guest on her show and why she donated $1.5 million to help Dr. Trent build a school in her home village of Matau, Zimbabwe.

Though it doesn’t hurt to have someone of Oprah’s stature vouching for Tererai’s work, it was not the reason my heart stood at attention. The indomitable spirit that Tererai exuded on that stage drew me closer and nudged me to do more.

I learned that weekend that Tererai Trent was a child bride, traded for a cow, who had her first child with this older, abusive husband at age 14. She was a girl who secretly used to do her brother’s homework and beg her family for an education. And when she was asked by a humanitarian worker in her village to give voice to her dreams (when she was at this point in her early twenties and the mother of five), Tererai did not hesitate to blurt out, “I want to go to America to get an education – my GED, a bachelor’s and master’s degree, and a PhD.” The American worker responded, “If you dream it, it is achievable.”

Tinogona.

It’s a word in her native Shona language that means, “It is achievable.”

Tererai told her mother about this exchange and her mother wisely counseled her to write her dreams down so she could bury them in the Earth for nurturing – similar to their cultural practice of burying a child’s umbilical cord with a piece of the mother’s dress. In Shona, the word for bury is the same as the word for plant.

But her mother wanted her to grow something else – a dream not only for herself, but also for her community. She encouraged Tererai to consider why she had this dream of an education and advised her that these dreams would have more potency if they were meant to serve a purpose larger than herself.

Her final dream would be to build a school in her village that would set a new model of achievement for the boys AND girls of her community – a school with running water, a kitchen and cafeteria, a library, a computer room, electricity and other modern conveniences that we take for granted in the United States.

Such a bold dream for a girl denied her own education, trapped in an abusive marriage, and challenged by generations of poverty handed down to her like a baton in a race.

Over the course of a few days that weekend at Kripalu (and in subsequent weeks while reading her incredible book, “The Awakened Woman,”) I would learn more about how Tererai defied every odd thrown at her to become the esteemed Dr. Tererai Trent and to indeed achieve all of her dreams that she buried in Zimbabwe. Tinogona!

But the story cannot and should not end with the building of the school with Oprah’s generous donation – funding Tererai stretched further by rallying the support of her entire village to hand-make all of the bricks used in the school construction. Dr. Trent expanded the number of schools overseen by TTI through the “adoption” of other local schools. Many of these buildings are in varying degrees of neglect. Only four of the twelve even have running water.

This caught my attention and my advocacy. It is not a stretch to say that expanding access to clean water has always been one of my sacred dreams.

I have spent my whole life as an advocate for water, starting as a college-aged volunteer construction worker on international humanitarian projects building cisterns in rural, remote villages in Mexico; as a legislator spearheading laws to protect water supplies in my state; and as a non-profit leader dedicated to advancing policies and raising funds to support clean water access. Now, in this new moment with Tererai, my spirit would not rest without stepping up to improve water access for the children of Zimbabwe.

Within weeks of returning from that weekend workshop, I made a promise to Dr. Trent: I would raise at least $60,000 to fund well drilling for neglected schools in the TTI network. It was a bold promise—one fueled by certainty; yet drilling is never certain. The earth does not always give freely. I would learn this firsthand.

Under TTI’s sustainability model, when a borehole is drilled for a school, a second one is also established for the local community; a one-hectare garden is fenced and planted to grow produce that will both feed the children at school and serve as an economic generator, with excess produce going under contract to local markets. That revenue is used to support teachers and other school infrastructure needs.

I like the concept of this sustainable model and it is already underway and working well in a portion of the TTI network of schools. Another important piece to this work is the role of parental committees that get formed at the schools with water wells and gardens. Parents of the children are recruited to take ownership of the labor to tend to the gardens and bring produce to market.

When I thought about how to engage my network of generous friends and supporters for this cause, one thing was clear to me: I wanted all of them to have a chance to meet this incredible woman, hear her story, be inspired by her teachings, and feel as compelled as I am to help support her sacred dreams.

My non-profit organization and my farm teamed up with a local college to offer a unique collaboration that sponsored a free public lecture and book signing with Dr. Trent for hundreds of members of the community, hosted classroom dialogues on campus for students, and held a small, private fundraising dinner to support the water access project.

The lecture at the college was a conversation that I moderated with Dr. Trent. It ranks among the most inspiring dialogues I have ever had an opportunity to moderate. The energy and enthusiasm at the fundraising dinner that followed was something extra special. The buzz in the room was electric – that rare event where everyone in the same space is walking with a high vibration of joy, inspiration, enthusiasm, and belief in the greatness of the human spirit.

Some donors in attendance decided to give more than their original gift, allowing us to not only meet but exceed our goal by raising the eye-popping amount of $67,000 for TTI.

TINOGONA!!

I could already feel the build-up of excitement to witness these wells being drilled, as I had intended from the beginning of this journey to travel to Zimbabwe to be on the ground and physically connect the mission of TTI with my work at both the WeAreOne Alliance and Apotheosis Farm. Now that the money was raised, the project became real.

Lessons of Ubuntu

The day we set out to bless the land for a new garden and begin drilling a borehole at Zvimhonja Secondary School, we first visited Musukwi Primary. It was the most primitive school I had ever seen.

My heart sank when I witnessed these facilities. Pieces of chalk board so damaged as to barely be usable hung on the walls of mud brick and thatched roof huts with gaping holes. These huts were small, cramped, unsafe, and practically hostile to a proper learning environment, and yet were filled with eager students and dedicated teachers with a desire for educational achievement.

After touring the teaching huts, the educators invited the children to play with us in the open field. I experienced an emotional roller coaster at Musukwi, where one moment I have my back turned to wipe away tears of anger at the unfair distribution of resources in this world, and in the next, I am playing with smiling, laughing, and joyous children in the courtyard. They love learning my Girl Scout songs while teaching me their favorite dances and songs in their native language. Another group is expressing their fullness by running along the field, chasing the new soccer ball our group gifted them. They were all so thrilled to have this time to play with us. Their joy was infectious. Their resiliency, remarkable.

How can such joy flourish in the midst of scarcity? I wrestled with this question throughout our mission, but the answer remained the same: joy grows from connection. From belonging. From love.

Yet even in joy, hunger persists—not just for food or water, but for something deeper.

I am awash in the gratitude that accompanies the ubiquitous African practice of Ubuntu, the belief that “I am because you are” – the spirit of human interconnectedness; a universal bond of sharing that connects all humanity. Ubuntu is knowing that we can be human only together.

Time and time again over the course of our days in Matau, I was struck most by an opportunity to witness in action that which I labor daily to stitch back together at home: connections to each other through a shared love of humanity.

We are one.

The Zimbabweans I met – young and old – exuded the embodied practice of connection, compassion, gratitude, and unconditional love that is generative of joy. Joy is at the heart of humanity when we are aligned with Ubuntu.

And when that is missing, there is a hunger greater than any other.

We have so much in our country. We are drowning in consumption. Yet we often seem to be more rooted in what is missing rather than in gratitude for what is. Our culture in America is haunted by a hungry ghost, gnawing at us from an appetite that is never satiated. But that’s because we are not feeding what is hungry. We think we hunger for things. Actually, we are starved for connection. We are disconnected not only from others but from ourselves, too. That void can be cavernous, but feasting on gratitude can help us gain strength and stamina to find our way back to fullness.

My Great Hunger: Access to Clean Drinking Water

Dr. Trent writes and speaks about the importance of finding our Great Hunger—the longing that breaks our hearts. The hunger of our sacred dreams. One great hunger for me is to see all of the world’s people with access to clean drinking water.

After playing soccer, singing, dancing, and filling our hearts with so much joy medicine from the children of Musukwi Primary, we arrived at Zvimhonja Secondary School to the greeting of local elected officials, tribal leaders, educators, students, parents, and local community activists who shared our enthusiasm for the new sister garden and the gift of water.

We started with a shared prayer and laying of tobacco to bless the new garden space and connect it back home to our farm, our non-profit organization, and friends across Maryland who made this possible. I even brought a piece of root from a sacred Cedar tree on our land at Apotheosis Farm to be buried at the garden site in Africa. Indeed, we are one.

While the workers with the large rig and drilling equipment burrowed further and further into the earth for the water that is life, I could feel all the hopes and dreams and anticipation for water shared by everyone at the site begin to rise. They kept thanking me profusely for the investment that our friends made in making this new water project possible. Currently, they must hand-carry buckets of water for their daily needs from at least a mile away. That’s just for this site. Some communities have further still to go.

Mid-day, we were gathered into a classroom where local women had prepared a feast in our honor. They came by each desk where we were seated and washed our hands before serving us a full plate of collards, sadza (a type of corn grit), and spiced, stewed goat).

Goat.

I took a deep breath.

Goat was far from my comfort zone. But I knew this meal was sacred—a gift of gratitude for the water we had worked to provide. I would eat the goat. I would eat the sadza, despite my corn allergy. To refuse would be to reject their generosity, and that was unthinkable.

I accepted the plate of food as a prayer and blessing and thoroughly enjoyed each bite along with the joy of eating with only my fingers. Afterall, they had washed our hands with the precious water they had carried from walking more than a mile. This limited resource which required so much effort to collect, and they poured a good portion of it over a bowl while rinsing our hands to beautifully prepare us for this meal.

Water truly connects us all in every way.

Their gratitude fed us. Not just physically, but also spiritually.

While the drilling rig continued to blast dust particles from the rock they were cutting through to find water, I sat with some of the women educators and spoke to them about the gift of water.

They have gone without water for more than 10 years in this area. No longer having to walk at such lengths to fetch water for cleaning, eating, drinking, and bathing will be life-changing. But as educators, they are just as excited about what it means for the agricultural project in the accompanying garden and what they will teach students about growing and nurturing food and creating a locally sustainable economy around agricultural production.

All of our nervous excitement builds with anticipation. How much longer until we dance in the rain of water drops that will rush from this well site?

Expectations: The Greatest Source of Human Suffering

We get word the drilling is not going as planned. They dig further and further and still no water. TTI must make an excruciating decision: continue to keep paying to drill more deeply (with no guarantee we find water) or abandon this site and try again somewhere else?

We are shown that the rock powder coming out of the well is damp, a sign of water. Surely if we just keep drilling, it will break through at some point.

As day turned to night, we never gave up hope. We sang and prayed. We gathered and told stories. We connected and bonded over our shared belief that everyone deserves access to clean water.

We arrived full of certainty. We would drill, and water would come. It had to. Even before boarding the plane to Africa, I envisioned the moment—water gushing from the well, laughter, dancing, and the joy of a village transformed.

But the earth remained silent. No water.

How could this be? Every indicator—geological surveys, local wisdom—pointed to water below. But drought and climate change do not heed human plans. The earth does what it will.

Accepting this fact in the darkness of the Zimbabwean clear night sky – when our ingenuity motivated us to use the lights of our group’s vans to allow the rig to keep drilling under the shine of the moon – was quite a different experience than the image we had all prepared for at the start of the day, when the excitement and anticipation of celebrating the water was almost more than any of our anxious hearts could hold.

The Alchemy of Defeat

Before leaving the well site in the darkness of that night, I walked over to the leader of the parents’ group at this school. She wore a brightly-colored yellow sun hat and stood with us in hope and prayer all day. I shook her hand and said, “I’m so sorry we didn’t find water tonight. But we will. I know we will.” Her steely eyes catch and lock into mine as she begs the question with a hint of desperation: “When, Madame? When?” This is such a gut punch.

This would not be the first time I have suffered great disappointment from carrying such strong certainty that goodness and righteousness of the cause would prevail. Indeed, I have twice given everything I have to run for higher office when the odds have been stacked against me. And twice I have had to give gut-wrenching concession speeches to teary-eyed supporters.

Let me be clear. I would have preferred to win those elections. But I also do not allow the defeat to define me. It is my teacher. I have gained a lot of wisdom from the alchemy of loss, possessing a rich ability to see and learn from the depth of a journey and not just its immediate outcome.

So as we climbed into the van in stunned silence to drive back to Tererai’s homestead that night, I had time to think about what I have learned in defeat throughout my life. In every instance where I have believed in the certainty of an outcome, my disappointment has ultimately only been about a timeline – a question of when, not whether. Often, I have learned more by watching the unexpected answers unfold over time than when things go perfectly as I had planned. We must be open to it all.

The following morning, with our spirits still a bit dashed from the dry well, I spoke to my group with encouragement about the opportunities presented to us in this challenge. With the extra time we spent on the site that day, we got to talk to more students, educators, and community leaders about their dreams for water. Some in our group grabbed buckets and walked to fetch water from the current remote location and experienced the real-life consequences of the school and local community having to traverse such distances for this precious resource. We had an opportunity to sing and dance and speak with a student assembly. We were fed like queens by a community blessing us with gratitude and reciprocity. We sat on the land and asked Tererai questions about the violence, war, and bloodshed that occurred here in their war for independence and prayed for more peace and a healing of the land. We had a chance to reconsider TTI’s approach to drilling, entertaining the question of whether the organization should buy its own drilling rig and train students at its vocational schools to run the equipment rather than paying a private company these exorbitant rates for each borehole. We can now also come together as a group and turn our grief into pledges to raise more funds so that a dry well does not feel like a loss. We can dig more wells.

None of this insight and rich opportunity for engagement would have happened if we had struck water, celebrated, and left the site hours earlier.

I reminded my sisters: This was not the end of the story. The water would come—not if, but when.

A Crisis of Faith?

But to trust in the spirit of “when” requires a lot of faith.

Though I gave a good pep talk to our group on how to hold this hugely disappointing outcome, I wrestled with a deep internal question of whether I had broken with my faith that day at the Zvimhonja well site. No amount of positive spin seemed able to erase the grief that was sitting on top of my heart.

Examining that grief, I found the seeds of a scary thought: this experience shattered core elements of my faith. Would I still be the same optimist who trusts that the Universe is always working in our favor?

Sitting in the darkness after the failed well, I searched for meaning. Disappointment pressed heavily on my chest. But as I continued to unravel my grief, I found a gift: the difference between faith and belief.

It was not my faith that had shattered. No, my faith is strong. Faith rode with me in the silent van that night, comforting me with insights on how to hold all of this. My presence in Zimbabwe was my faith in action. For as my favorite Epistle from James reads, “Faith without works is dead.” Mine is very much alive.

My faith had not taken a hit. It was my beliefs that had been shaken.

I believe in justice. I wanted to know how it could be that people suffering so much would be asked to continue to do without?

I believe in fairness. I wanted to know why the generosity of our donors would be wasted on a dry well and why the people of Matau would have fewer wells than we planned as a result of this?

I believe in prayer. I wanted to know why ours felt abandoned?

I believe in Earth wisdom. I wanted to know why the land didn’t cooperate with us?

I believe in Democracy. I wanted to know why the people did not rise up against their government to demand better?

But beliefs, by design, are meant to be challenged if we are to grow from our life experiences.

In this exploration, I am reconnected to the biggest lesson I have learned over and over during a life that has delivered its share of big disappointments: embrace the mystery of the unknowing.

Mystery is playful, alive, and exciting. By definition, it is not knowing. And to many, that is scary. We impose fear on the Great Unknown when we live with the false notion that we are in control of anything.

I cannot possibly understand the bigger issues at play in each of these scenarios that caused me grief at the well site. By design, my humanity limits me to see only a fraction of what is dancing on the larger stage of creation. I am but a grain of sand on the beach of life – life that extends through the expansive multiverse. Ultimately, I know nothing.

I cannot walk through the world believing that I am able to bend it to my will, no matter how strong it is. All I can do is show up to any situation with the joy and love of my heart, my desire to create and connect, and to release any expectation about the outcomes. I have to trust my faith because the results are never up to me, no matter what beliefs I hold.

My beliefs are a guiding light, but not the light itself. My beliefs are not my faith. My beliefs are the flashlight that can be bright or dim; on or off. My faith is the Sun; it is always shining.

Weeks later, a second well was drilled at Zvimhonja. This time, the earth relented. Water burst forth to the rapturous cheers of the village. The celebration I had envisioned happened—just not on my timeline.

Other well sights funded by our initial investment have also produced water. And we now have launched a new program, the Sacred Dreams Project, that is a permanent alliance between our organizations to bring delegations of people to Matau on a regular basis to continue drilling wells and building sustainable gardens while benefiting from the rich cultural exchange and leadership discussions that Tererai and I facilitate for the group while we are in Zimbabwe together.

What a lasting legacy our friendship has produced.

The Heart of Humanity is Joy

Africa, oh Africa, you have shown me that joy is at the heart of humanity. You have taught me the nature of joy in the midst of adversity. And you have encouraged me to cultivate joy as a way of being. You have given me an opportunity to experience, reflect on, and learn from great disappointment. You tested my beliefs and made my faith stronger. Above all, you have given me fierce confidence in the power of joyous connection.

My time in Matau began and ended in song, dance, and joyous connection with the people.

On one of our first mornings in the village, Dr. Trent took us to Matua Primary School, which is the cream of the crop in TTI’s network. This is the school that benefitted from Oprah Winfrey’s donation to Dr. Trent’s dream. As we drove in our 12-person passenger van through the long and very dusty dirt roads, we came across a couple of little children in their blue uniforms, the proud colors of Matua Primary. Tererai, a well-known figure in her community, slowed and stopped the van so we could open the door and let these astonished, sweet faces join us for the final mile of the journey. Some of their awe was certainly meeting Dr. Trent and her American friends. However, Tererai was fairly certain these little ones had never ridden in a car before.

We are told that many children rise by 5 a.m. to begin their long walks to school. The simple act of riding in a van left them wide-eyed with wonder. In that moment, I was reminded: privilege is often invisible to those who hold it.

Ubuntu calls us to share what we have—to see our abundance not as an individual possession, but as something meant for the whole. This is why I will return to Zimbabwe. Why I will keep raising funds. Why the Sacred Dreams Project must grow.

When we get to the school, the children race to the outside assembly gathering to greet us. Hundreds and hundreds of children report for the Administrator’s morning roll call and greetings of, “TINOGONA!” They then break into song and marching lines, eventually enveloping individual members of our group and inciting us to jump, and sing, and dance with them. I thought my face was going to break from the stretch of smile gathering from one ear to the other.

As I danced and laughed and felt the infectious energy of these children rise up to greet the child in my own heart, I thought to myself, “I never knew I needed to come to Africa to touch into the depths of joy my heart is capable of feeling.” I knew I was bringing gifts to share. I was not prepared to receive such blessings in return.

And much to my surprise, this all-encompassing enthusiasm was repeated at every place we visited. It was not reserved just for moments of celebration and greetings from school children, though. It accompanied every community gathering we experienced in Matau.

We visited homes to see wives proudly show their one-room huts, fires burning on the floor center, with their prized possessions of several colorful plates and cups on display; their tiny and thin sleeping mats curled up in the corner until bedtime. We gathered with local tribal leaders and community members to discuss women’s empowerment in the village. Their chosen leader listened more than she spoke. We stopped in at a few small roadside businesses that sell sundry items. Everyone knew the Americans had money to spare but no one pressured a sale. They just seemed genuinely happy to see us.

There was no place we gathered that was not accompanied with warm greetings, large smiles, open hearts, and a familiar phrase, “You are welcome.” This was not as response to “thank you.” They led with this phrase when shaking hands, meaning “you are welcome here.” And their actions spoke louder than words. I have never felt more welcome anywhere in the world.

Ubuntu.

We are one.

Tinogona.

An Ode to Joy

Back home in Maryland as I unpacked from my trip, I picked up and held the smooth piece of wood that I brought home from the village. It is a homemade drumstick. As I roll it around in my hands, I can faintly still feel the vibrational beat of the songs that greeted us when we arrived at Dr. Trent’s home after our day and night at the water drilling site.

That night, after drilling for a dry well, we returned to the village expecting quiet, perhaps sorrow. Instead, we were greeted with drumming, singing, and dancing.

They knew. And yet, their joy remained.

Their gratitude did not waver. Their faith in eventual success remained unshaken.

That night was still a celebration—an ode to joy, to resilience, to the unbreakable spirit of Ubuntu.

So we danced. We drummed. We drank wine. We celebrated water. We honored the grit and tenacity it takes to be human – knowing that we can be human only together.

Let me not finish this tale without making clear that I in no way intend to over-romanticize the people I met, the lives they live, or deny the great suffering they still seek to heal within their war-savaged nation. But perhaps what I am still processing, and stand in complete awe of, is the ability to lead with the joy of their hearts, gratitude for everything, and the importance of community connection despite the many legitimate reasons they could choose to see life from a lens of despair, scarcity, and division.

It is said that you cannot go to Africa and not come home a fundamentally different person. My heart still stomps and dances with the joyous love that the good people of Matau showered on my spirit. A piece of me will be forever bound to Zimbabwe. Mother Teresa said, "Joy is a net of love in which you can catch souls." I have seen this net cast across oceans, across cultures, across hardship. And I know it can grow even wider.

This is why I return to Zimbabwe. Why I will keep raising funds. And why I invite you to be part of this mission.

If this story has moved you—if you believe that every child deserves clean water, education, and a future—consider joining us. Whether through donations, advocacy, or spreading awareness, your voice and support matter to this mission.

Visit the Sacred Dreams Project to learn how you can help. Because we are one. Because Ubuntu is not just a belief—it is an action.

It is achievable.

Tinogona!